


great minds against themselves conspire

by wyverning



Series: give me something to chew on [1]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: AFTG Reverse Big Bang 2020, Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Blood Magic, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Fae!Andrew, M/M, Magic, Witch!Neil, riko moriyama comes with his own warning, slight gore, vampire!neil
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:20:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23135284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wyverning/pseuds/wyverning
Summary: Neil Josten has but one goal: to destroy the Moriyamas, a clan of born vampires intent on wreaking havoc in both the supernatural and mortal worlds. His quest has brought him to Eden's Twilight, a nightclub that doubles as a haven for the supernatural community. Neil's sleuthing is going swimmingly, though things would bemucheasier if he could manage to stop getting distracted by the club's blond bartender, who happens to be the most tempting thing Neil's smelled in literal decades.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Series: give me something to chew on [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1697431
Comments: 23
Kudos: 329
Collections: AFTG Reverse Big Bang 2020





	great minds against themselves conspire

**Author's Note:**

> ahhh, i am so excited to post this! as soon as i saw a vampire!neil prompt in the RBB claims, i just _knew_ i had to do it. thank you so much to [ally](https://kittyfeathersflying.tumblr.com/) for such wonderful inspiration and art! pictures are embedded in the fic, and you can see them full-size [HERE. ](https://kittyfeathersflying.tumblr.com/post/612775157646393344)
> 
> all of the gratitude in the world to [madison](https://makebelieveanything.tumblr.com/) and [kay](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ihaveacleverfandomurl/pseuds/ihaveacleverfandomurl) for betaing this until it became a cohesive story. couldn't have done it without you both!
> 
> ALSO shout-out to asas and eli for letting me bounce ideas off of you and helping me maintain my sanity. ilu all!!!

Neil Josten is not human.

Andrew knows this with complete certainty. He could say the words aloud and they would be made entirely of truth, tinged with the near-untraceable breath of magic that always accompanies the veracity of his speech.

He knows a great many things about the world around him, has learned through experience that human beings can be more monstrous than the supernatural clientele that Eden’s Twilight caters to, and this is yet another truth in an endless list of them: Neil Josten is not human.

Andrew’s decided to make a game of it. Figuring out who — and what — Neil truly is passes the time, and it scratches the niggling itch that resides in the back of his brain.

“Hey,” a gruff voice says from the sticky countertop of the bar. “You gonna ask me what I want or what?”

Shifting his gaze from Josten, who is currently sitting in the corner nursing a cup of motherfucking apple juice or something equally ridiculous, Andrew looks at the man demanding customer service at Eden’s, staring blankly at his building outrage.

The man is obviously some kind of were — wolf, or bear, likely. Andrew doesn’t particularly care.

“Shitty attitude,” the were growls in a pathetic attempt at intimidation. He seems genuinely affronted, like it’s a surprise to him that any of the staff at Eden’s don’t willingly bend over backward to follow orders. Andrew gets paid to make drinks, not act like some simpering friend of customers.

He seems more annoyed than unnerved by Andrew’s silence, which is fine. The silver blades embedded in Andrew’s armbands would be more than enough to shift the were’s attitude toward the latter, should the occasion call for it.

The standoff doesn’t last long, though, much to Andrew’s dismay. He could do with a good fight. Eventually, the were cuts his gaze toward the amber bottles of whiskey lined up on the bar’s shelves, and Andrew pours him a glass of the cheapest shit they stock.

He doesn’t offer a thank you, though, or a tip. Honestly, it’s to be expected. Andrew doesn’t have the energy to do anything but glare in the man’s general direction.

With the asshole were — definitely wolf — served, Andrew’s free to turn his attention back toward Josten, who has progressed from sipping his juice to eating french fries, one by one.

There isn’t even ketchup on his plate to accompany them.

It’s an abomination.

He’s come into the bar five times in the past two months, doing a terrible job of looking like a regular patron. Andrew cottoned onto him before he’d spent even an hour sitting at one of the booths, very conspicuously casing the joint. While it’s entirely possible that the redhead is merely a flight risk, too used to checking every exit whenever he’s in a new place, there’s far too much at stake for Andrew to dismiss him.

Thus, the constant surveillance. Andrew watches as Josten pops a fry into his mouth, wrinkles his nose like he wasn’t expecting it to taste like a french fry, and then settles his chin into the palm of his hand. It’s just mundane enough for him to blend in, if Andrew weren’t paying close attention.

Non-humans make up the essence of Eden’s, but suspicious non-humans don’t get a free pass.

“Hey,” a voice calls out from the kitchen, interrupting Andrew’s reconnaissance. He’s heading toward the staff entrance before he consciously recognizes it, drawn to the speaker.

The kitchens are almost empty, except for his human doppelganger. Aaron looks sullen in front of the sink, dishes floating in the murky water.

“I’m leaving early,” Aaron declares, like his actions aren’t completely dependent on whether or not Andrew will be escorting him out of the club.

“Why.”

Aaron jerks his head toward the cook that pads into view a few moments later. The creature hardly notices the two of them, snuffling about as he fits a hairnet around the overlong tufts of hair trailing out of his ears.

Greer is a hobgoblin, not tall enough to reach even Andrew’s hip, let alone turn Aaron’s discomfort into something legitimate.

“Surely you’re not of the impression that Greer is capable of hurting you.”

Aaron refuses to look at Greer. His glare is very nearly impressive.

“I,” Aaron says through gritted teeth, “am leaving early. With or without you.”

Though they are technically the same age, Andrew feels as if he’s lived lifetimes beyond Aaron. It’s a little like taking care of a child that’s an absolute brat: his “twin’s” penchant for despising any and all creatures magical has gotten old very quickly. Andrew will never regret killing Tilda, but neither does he cherish becoming Aaron’s new caretaker.

“Come on, then,” Andrew says. “I’ll tell Roland he’ll be alone at the bar and then we can go.”

When Andrew slips out of the kitchen to do exactly that, he sees that Josten is gone.

* * *

Neil’s stomach gnaws on itself, desperate for sustenance.

The cold french fries he’s forcing himself to eat do nothing to settle the ache, which yearns for something vastly more substantial and iron-rich than bland starch.

It’s fine, though. It’s always fine.

He grimaces through another mouthful of pure carbohydrates, and then gives up on the facade. Surely he’s eaten enough to stave off the suspicious looks emanating from the corner of the bar that smells so unbearably delicious that Neil can’t even afford to think too deeply in that direction —

Enough.

He has a mission, and he’s not about to fail Stuart’s coven here. Not after everything they’ve been through.

Eden’s Twilight looks like any other supernatural club from the outside, and it’s pretty average from the inside, as well. Clusters of non-humans crowd around the standing tables. Under the flickering neon lights, everyone dancing and chatting has an ethereal glow cast over them, and the bass pulses a heavy rhythm.

If Neil were any more mortal, it might have been loud enough to deafen him.

It looks, for all intents and purposes, like any of the other dozens of clubs that Neil’s been in and out of in the last decade. There’s absolutely nothing about the club that explains why Riko Moriyama purchased it, in cash, two weeks ago.

Still, Neil vacates his table to do one last perimeter check before heading out. It’s pretty clear he’s going to have to dig deeper to uncover whatever the hell Riko’s planning, but Neil owes it to Stuart to at least be thorough before he leaves.

Neil’s stomach snarls angrily at him, though it’s too quiet for anyone else to hear in the loud space. He’ll need to feed soon, or else risk fatigue the moment he needs to conjure an ounce of magic. He’s not a complete idiot, hasn’t been since he accidentally starved himself enough that his father captured him in the first place, but that doesn’t mean Neil enjoys what he is.

The air stirs, and Neil only just barely restrains himself from lunging toward the direction of the enticing smell. He watches as two blonds duck out of one of the side doors, and is distracted only by the sharp tang of his own blood. Belatedly, he realizes that his fingernails have bitten into the flesh of his palms, delicate red half-moons carved into his hands. They heal within a few slow heartbeats.

Just his luck. Starving for blood, and Neil’s palate craves the surly bartender who’s been shooting glares at him for months.

* * *

It didn’t start at the club.

It didn’t even start in the human realm, really.

Andrew Minyard has only existed for nineteen years, but he is much older than that.

The Folk don’t form attachment to one another in the same way that humans do. Eternal life brings with it a sense of disengagement from most other living creatures — why bother getting attached to things that will inevitably wither and die? But although Andrew knows the rules of the Fae, knows on an instinctual level how their hierarchy works, their dealings do not become more bearable.

Even years of growing up alongside Cass hadn’t been enough for her to feel an ounce of regret as she traded Andrew away to the human mother who had bargained her child to the Folk.

Tilda Minyard hadn’t cared that the cost of a new supply of booze and drugs had been her human son, but Andrew had. He’d been an unwilling part of her negotiation, secreted away to live in the human realm as payment for her vices.

She’d spent the first week of Andrew’s exposure to the human world too dazed on a cocktail of intoxication to even notice he wasn’t Aaron.

There was something about the energy of the human world, Andrew had learned, that allowed the Fae to grow and develop. Andrew had understood, even still as a youngling, that his presence in Tilda’s home had supposedly been beneficial to the growth of his body and magic. Though it had quickly become clear, to Andrew, at least, that her very existence was an affront to all living creatures.

The first hand she’d raised to him had also been the last. He’d taken care of her with hardly a thought, but it left the unfortunate loose end of her son: Aaron Minyard, small and thin and gangly but still old enough to understand that something about the Folk was horribly, terribly wrong to his feeble human mind.

He’d nearly been broken by Andrew’s family in the few days he’d been gone from the realm of the Fae. They’d toyed with him, dangling his mortality like a particularly delectable morsel, and even as it was familiar to Andrew, so was it also disgusting.

The wanton salaciousness of his kin was nearly as appalling as Tilda Minyard.

Andrew had made a quick decision and left, Aaron in tow. Turning his back on the Fae didn’t make him any less of one, bound to speak the truth at the cost of the magic coursing beneath his veins.

Even becoming Andrew Minyard, Aaron Minyard’s twin, had taken minimal effort. Cleaning up his own mess had required nothing more than tapping into the wild, untamed magic he was born with: Andrew settled for compelling Nicky to believe Andrew and Aaron were twins, and he’d always grown up around both of them.

Now, years into the bargain he’d struck with Aaron to play at being human, it’s not the easiest of lives, but at least this one is his.

* * *

“How’s it going?” Stuart asks. His face shines oddly in the reflection of the water, though that might be due to the sluggish dripping of Neil’s blood into the basin distorting it.

“Nothing so far,” Neil replies. It’s been a quiet few months as he’s integrated himself into Columbia’s community. There’s a coven located nearby that he’s identified, but their aura is nothing like his mother’s was. Though they may dabble in dark magic, none of them deal in blood, or Neil would know.

It’s not enough of a red flag to even bring it up with Stuart: there’s no way any of the Moriyamas relocated here because of a coven whose matron witch spends half her time brawling in human cage-fights.

Stuart hesitates for a moment. Neil catches it. “What?”

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” his uncle says, “but it’s possible that Riko’s acting on his own. There are murmurs that Kengo’s on the move, but it wouldn’t make sense for him to be mobile if he’d set up a new location for operations.”

Neil hums. If Riko’s working independently of his father, then it’ll be all the harder to figure out what he’s doing in South Carolina. It’s not as though he has any delusions about it being easy to dismantle an entire criminal empire of vampires currently working toward world domination, but Neil doesn’t enjoy when things are so thoroughly complicated.

He might have to ask for help.

With a grimace, Neil says, “I’ll look into it.” He licks down the length of his wrist, willing the skin split from a dagger to close. He feels something close to giddy with the tingle of magic still thrumming down his spine, but he knows it’ll fade.

“Keep me updated,” Stuart says, before their connection goes flat and the pool of water stills unnaturally.

Blood magic is one of the only things that makes Neil feel alive, anymore. It’s just a shame that he has such a limited amount to work with.

* * *

Andrew smells blood in the air.

It doesn’t mean anything, not really, especially when half of their clientele prefers it as their drink of choice. There’s something off about what Andrew smells, though, and it has him on edge for the evening.

Possibly it’s a premonition. He’d do well to keep on his guard.

Josten arrives close to 9, surreptitiously beelining for one of the empty tables away from the dance floor. It’s irritating, how he spends so much time at Eden’s without even bothering to take part in the amenities it provides. He hates the food, loathes dancing, refuses to buy drinks that couldn’t be purchased for half the price at a grocery store...

Enough is enough. Andrew’s going to get to the bottom of this, idle games be damned.

He approaches Josten’s table; it’s out of the ordinary, and they both know it. Bartenders aren’t in the habit of taking orders from anywhere but the bar itself, and Neil has avoided speaking even a single word to Andrew since he started showing up.

“You,” Andrew says when he’s close enough, jerking his chin toward the back entrance of the club. It leads to an alleyway that Andrew favors for a smoke, and is quiet enough for an interrogation. Stored blood smells different from the fresh scent of violence clinging to the redhead’s frame, and Andrew wants answers.

“Me,” Josten says. His eyes narrow, and it’s an interesting contrast to his wide-eyed shock when Andrew had first approached.

Josten looks appalled to see him, now that he’s had a moment to take Andrew’s presence in. He takes a step back, something sharp and instinctive that keys Andrew in to the fact that he might bolt.

“Is something wrong?” Andrew asks with a slow blink, purely for the fact that it makes Josten squirm.

“You smell,” he blurts out, which is not what Andrew had been expecting. He almost takes an instinctive sniff but manages to rein in the reaction. He doesn’t smell.

“And that’s a terrible pick-up line.”

“No, no,” Josten says. His lips tug into a frown. “I can’t — I can’t think when you’re too close. You’re not human, so what are you?”

I could ask the same of you, Andrew thinks, but that’d be too easy. “You’ll owe me for information like that.”

Josten gnaws on his lower lip. “I’ll teach you how to mask it,” he says, finally.

Oh. Interesting. “What makes you think I can’t do that myself?”

His words startle a laugh out of the redhead. “Well, obviously you can’t do it yourself, or you would have already. Do you even know how intox— how obvious it is?”

Offering magical assistance isn’t a deal to be taken lightly. Since Andrew’s left the Fae realm, he’s had little opportunity — or interest — to hone his magic. It’s easier to feign humanity than it is to wrestle with the wild magic of his true people.

But whatever Josten is, it’s clear that Andrew’s scent is noticeable to him. Which means he’s also identifiable. Anything that makes him stick out, that pins a target onto either his or Aaron’s back, is a risk.

“Teach me.”

It’s a demand, not a request.

* * *

Neil’s an idiot, but that’s nothing new.

He’s operated for decades without getting close to others. The only people he can trust are the kin whose blood runs through his own veins, and becoming familiar with anyone else — supernatural or human — puts more than just Neil’s life at risk.

Being recognized beyond his name isn’t safe, which is why he has always avoided being known at all costs.

Until now, Neil muses. Training a deliciously-smelling non-human how to harness his magic.

Ah, well. After asking around, Neil had gleaned that Andrew’s been an employee of Eden’s Twilight for a handful of years now. It lessens the possibility that he’s one of Riko’s, and he has a sneaking suspicion that whatever smell clings to Andrew’s frame also gives him the strength to resist being enthralled by a pureblood, so Neil feels fairly comfortable in his idiocy.

If he can train Andrew to glamour his scent, it’ll make his job easier, he tells himself.

* * *

Andrew’s magic, once he loosens the rigid mental blocks he’s kept up around it for years, seems to sing in Neil’s presence.

He despises it.

“No, not like that,” Neil says with a huff. “You can’t just let it do whatever it wants. Where’s your control?”

The insult hits its mark, but Andrew’s fucking control over everything but his magic means his face doesn’t even shift at the words. “My control? It’s about to brand you with silver if you don’t give me something more useful to do.”

The threat is also a play to see if Neil’s the kind of supernatural to shy away from silver. Instead, he rolls his eyes and mutters something that sounds suspiciously like _drama queen._

“Okay,” he says. “Look. Magic is like… if you close your eyes and breathe deeply, you can feel the world around you, right?”

Andrew looks at him dubiously.

Neil makes a go-on sort of gesture, and they stare at each other for a long moment before Andrew finally relents and closes his eyes.

Beyond the darkness of his eyelids, Andrew doesn’t feel anything. He says as much.

“You have to want it,” Neil says, and even without his vision, Andrew can tell he’s smirking.

“I don’t want anything.”

“Then what are we even doing here?”

Andrew opens his eyes to glare. “Nothing, apparently. You’re incapable of holding up your end of the bargain.”

Neil bares his teeth, but it’s more of a grimace than a smile. Andrew notes the lack of noticeable points that might indicate his species. “Well, if it’s nothing you want, and it’s nothing you’re getting, then I’d say I’ve met your satisfaction.”

“We’re done here.”

Neil says, “Wait,” and Andrew pauses for a brief moment. “Clearly that’s not an approach that works for you. We can both feel your magic, so what if we just…”

He waves one hand in the air, doing something, and Andrew feels his skin prickle with goosebumps as the scent of ozone hits him.

It’s Neil’s magic, and his own instincts cry out in response. Around them, space seems to flicker, like the air itself is alight with enchantment.

“Imagine your magic like a blanket settling over you.” Neil furrows his brow for a moment, before a shimmer in the air solidifies into something slightly hazier.

Two things come to Andrew’s mind: the first is that this sounds approximately as ridiculous as feel the world around you, and the second is that it’s as if his magic is eager to follow Neil’s instruction.

He can feel it now: amid the airy presence of Neil’s magic, his own wraps around him, something far more earthy and tangible. Andrew can sense the workings of Neil’s, but his magic sweeps out in tendrils, eager to do his bidding.

Maybe Josten isn’t a lost cause.

It isn’t long after that Andrew wrests it under his absolute control, and he convinces himself that the delight on Neil’s face when he sniffs the air and confirms that Andrew has, in fact, concealed his overpowering scent, makes him feel absolutely nothing.

* * *

Being around Andrew is nigh unbearable.

Neil still hasn’t found a source for blood since arriving in town, and his heartbeat is so weak he knows he’d be feral if he wasn’t half-witch.

His instincts call to bite and devour the blond — a faerie, Andrew had told him after successfully glamouring his scent — and it’s only the imminent danger of what would happen if he actually did so that holds him back.

The stock of blood that Eden’s keeps for clientele is a siren’s song, but Neil knows he can’t give in to temptation. Revealing himself at the club is far too dangerous. Riko’s known for being territorial, and even if he hasn’t shown his face, Neil’s knowledge of how the Moriyamas function guarantees that they will know of every single vampire who comes onto their turf.

His mother’s blood keeps him under the radar, but ordering a glass of warmed blood would send off warning bells that Neil’s not ready to deal with.

He needs to go hunting, or steal blood from a hospital, or something.

Close proximity to Andrew is difficult, even now that he’s mastered his glamour. Neil can still sense the phantom smell of him, some sort of imprint that his hindbrain craves like a bad addiction even though he’s never had a taste.

Fuck.

Neil sets out that very night, desperate to get his mind — and stomach — off Andrew Minyard.

He ends up finding Nicky Hemmick, who is a headache and a half, but also a convenient, humane source of sustenance.

* * *

“Life isn’t fair,” Nicky whines, and Renee makes a sympathetic noise. “I want to go downstairs. We have friends down there!”

“Why are you even here again?” Andrew asks, and it’s mostly because of annoyance. The rest of it is something he takes issue with: Nicky being inside the club is a risk, especially when Andrew’s too busy doing his damned job to keep an eye on him.

Probably that’s why Renee is alongside him.

“I’m gonna go get him,” Nicky says decisively, and he actually looks like he might venture into the mainstream portion of Eden’s. _Him_ refers, naturally, to Neil Josten, who has somehow become someone that Nicky is invested in.

Troublesome.

“Are you, now?” Andrew knows how imposing he looks, arms crossed as he leans against the doorframe.

“Well,” Nicky says, scrambling back into his seat. “What I meant was, Renee’s gonna go get him.”

Renee laughs, a light, tinkling thing that is eons away from the ear-splitting screams she’s capable of when a death prophecy comes. “Of course, Nicky. I’ll be right back.”

She flits past Andrew, careful not to brush against him as she leaves.

“You’re food,” Andrew says bluntly, eyes dragging across the neat bandage wrapped around Nicky’s arm. “Mingling with them isn’t going to make you any less food. Don’t be fucking stupid.”

Nicky pouts as he sinks further into the couch. “You’d think they’d be more grateful that I’m volunteering my lifeforce for them! Sometimes a boy just wants to dance!”

“As much as I hate to say it,” Allison says as she enters the lounge, “Minyard’s right. They’d eat you alive down there, and not in the sexy way.”

“Matt’s human and they don’t kill him!”

They rehash this argument almost every time Nicky’s anywhere near Eden’s for a blood donation. Though the company pays him handsomely for his bi-weekly supply of blood to sustain their more sanguivorous-leaning supernaturals, Nicky still seems to believe they should also provide him a security detail so he can partake in the club’s festivities.

“Matt has defensive magic and a girlfriend who doesn’t go anywhere without a quiver full of silver arrows,” Andrew says. “Besides, nobody appreciates witch blood but dragons, and we all know they’re far too cowardly to face the wrath of an entire coven.”

As if on cue, Kevin snorts from the couch opposite Nicky. He’s half-comatose from fairy wine, and is significantly more pleasant to be around than when he’s cognizant.

“Um,” a new voice hesitantly says. “Why am I here?”

Josten looks around, eyes wide. There’s a lightning-quick surveillance of the room, and Andrew watches with the slightest flash of curiosity as he evaluates everyone present for hazards. It’s a trained sweep, that much he can tell. There’s experience behind his gaze.

“Who’s the biggest threat?” Andrew can’t help but ask.

“What?”

Andrew sweeps a hand around, from Renee behind Neil in the doorway to Allison preening in the corner at Neil’s gaze.

“Who would you take out first, if you had to?”

“Not you,” Neil says, shooting him a dismissive glance. “You’re way too untrained to do any significant damage.”

Nicky doesn’t bother to smother his amused cackle. “Neil, you’re the best.”

“Definitely her,” Neil says, flicking a thumb behind him. He enters the lounge fully, hanging near the entryway in case he needs to make a quick exit.

“Oh,” Renee says, demure as she perches on the couch’s arm next to Nicky. “But I’m merely a harbinger of bad omens.”

Banshees are a hell of a lot more than that, but Andrew’s not about to speak up. He’s interested to see how this plays out.

“Death clings to you,” Neil says, and Renee’s placid gaze sharpens into something more dangerous. More deadly.

“And to you,” she replies.

“What about me,” Allison purrs, and a pulse of magic spreads throughout the room. It’s heady, the seductive magic she’s so adept at, yet Andrew remains unaffected. There’s nothing about any woman that could possibly sway him, but interestingly enough, Neil seems just as unruffled.

Neil appraises her. “I’d rather have you on my team than dead. Siren magic is incredibly handy when you’re outnumbered. A very valuable distraction.”

“Oh, come on,” Allison moans in frustration. “Is everyone in this room gay?”

“Yes,” Renee replies with a chuckle, tugging at Allison’s shirt until they’re close enough for a kiss.

Neil doesn’t grow comfortable as the room devolves into several different conversations happening rapidly at once. Eventually, Matt and Dan join them, and Andrew continues to watch the redhead, enjoying the slightly-panicked expression that lights up his face every time someone deigns to talk to him.

* * *

“What are you doing?”

Neil's head snaps up in attention, his body tensed for a fight. It takes a full heartbeat, a dull, slow thump-thump, for him to realize that there's no threat, only Andrew staring down at him.

He's been caught red-handed. Literally.

Blood from Neil's fingertips drips onto the ground, nearly smudging the careful wards he's drawn out around the back entryway of Eden's.

It's clear that Andrew has stepped outside for a smoke break, given the cigarette pack in his hands, and in a weak attempt at diversion, Neil asks, casually, “You want a light?” and snaps his fingers until his blood evaporates into a flame.

“Yes,” Andrew says, and Neil brings the conjured flame to the tip of the cigarette he’s holding out expectantly. He enjoys the acrid scent of smoke as it swirls into the air.

“What are you doing?” Andrew repeats.

Neil sees no point in pretending like he hasn’t been exposed performing magic, and so he continues smearing his blood in the shape of various runes until they’re completed. The flow of blood through his hands has slowed to a bare trickle, and he presses his palms against the rough concrete and mutters the necessary incantation.

The magic flares in reaction to Neil’s spell. It will tell him if anyone of Moriyama blood steps through the threshold, and he watches in satisfaction as the runes glow and then vanish into the ground.

“Magic,” Neil says as his wounds slow and then finally stop bleeding completely.

Andrew narrows his eyes. “You’re a blood witch.”

Neil shrugs. He feels the edges of Andrew’s magic pressing against him, and can’t entirely stifle the quirk of his lips. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he says. “Your magic’s way too familiar to me for you to get away with that kind of surveillance.”

It almost makes him proud that Andrew’s gotten so used to his own magic that he can even attempt such a thing.

Yet Andrew continues staring at him. It's a little unnerving.

And then Andrew says, “No,” and his stare becomes even more unnerving. “No. You’re not human.”

The breath catches in Neil’s throat, before he very carefully, very deliberately, lets it out. “Witches are always human,” he says, pointlessly. If Andrew’s convinced himself that Neil’s not human, Neil can’t… entirely blame him. It is the truth, after all.

The glowing end of a cigarette stabs in his direction. “I know witches. None of them have ever mentioned the way I smell.”

Ah, fuck.

On the ground, staring up at the five-foot-nothing Fae glaring down at him, Neil feels the urge to run.

“It’s a lineage thing,” Neil lies, swallowing down the fear. Riko can’t know that he’s here. Any whisper of what Neil really is will inevitably get back to him, and then all of his reconnaissance will have been for nothing.

“What do you know of the Folk?” Andrew asks. The question completely blindsides Neil.

“That they apparently smell really good,” he tries, the end of his words tilting upward into a question.

Andrew snorts. He has a sneaking suspicion that he’s not laughing with Neil.

“The tradeoff for using the magic of the earth is to always speak truthfully,” Andrew tells him. “We’re incapable of lying.”

“Are you mocking me?”

A raised eyebrow is his only response.

“The less you know, the better chances of your survival,” Neil says. It’s another truth — Riko will destroy everything in his path to get to Neil, if he knows he’s here.

“I can’t lie,” Andrew says, and the magic that follows his words settles around both of them. Neil knows, in that instant, that it’s the unfettered truth. “Whatever you tell me, I will keep secret. It’s the knowledge I’m after, not the bartering of information to others.”

The weight belying Andrew’s words is palpable in the air, and the heady, full force of it sends a shiver through Neil’s frame.

“So,” Andrew continues, crushing his cigarette beneath his toe. “You’re a blood witch. What else?”

Neil’s terrified. Of the truth, of Andrew’s willingness to speak it so plainly into existence, of what will happen if he bares this part of himself to anyone outside of Stuart’s coven.

But the scariest part of it all is that — Neil tells him.

Neil tells him about Nathan Wesninski, about his father’s plans to force humanity to their knees in order to serve the Moriyama clan. He tells him about the farms, where mortals are bred and held to be nothing but a food source to the ancient family. Neil tells him about the magic that runs through born vampires, of its power and strength that can overpower even the strongest of those who have been turned.

Neil tells him of Mary, a blood witch married into the Wesninski family in hopes of creating a hybrid vampire with magic to rival even the most powerful of born clan members. Neil tells him of Nathaniel, expected to champion the Moriyama mission of making knowledge of the supernatural community public. Neil tells him of his upbringing, cruel and pointed, of how the day he’d been turned from a human into a vampire, the venom had boiled his blood and slowed his heart until he’d become a bastardized monster.

Neil tells him of the way his stomach craves blood, mortal — or Fae, apparently — and fresh. Neil tells him of the self-loathing that comes with every meal, knowing he’s turned on humanity to selfishly survive.

Neil tells him of his mother’s death, and Stuart’s swift vengeance the moment their blood connection had been severed. Neil tells him of the way he killed Nathan himself, chopping him apart piece by piece and then using his own blood in the ritual to destroy his father’s soul.

Neil tells him about the decades he’s spent hunting down the Moriyamas, dismantling parts of their sprawling empire so humankind and supernaturals don't become enslaved for all eternity.

And Neil tells him about Riko buying Eden’s Twilight, and how he’d followed the trail to uncover whatever new scheme the Moriyamas have concocted in their twisted, cruel quest.

Andrew listens silently but not passively. He burns through another two cigarettes while Neil talks, the smoke rising until it hits the invisible barrier that Neil had erected to muffle their conversation.

It’s with a startling sense of clarity that Neil realizes unloading this all onto someone else is somewhat — relieving. He’s never had the opportunity to tell the story on his own terms before.

There’s silence between them even after Neil’s words taper off. Somehow, Andrew ended up seated beside him, knees pulled up to his chest as they both stared at the alley’s barren wall.

“My break ended twenty minutes ago,” Andrew says, tapping an idle finger against his wrist.

“Oh,” Neil says. “I’m sorry. You should — I can go.”

Andrew shakes his head. “Calm down, rabbit. You’re fine. I just… owe you, for this.”

“Your secrecy is enough,” Neil says, and he means it.

“No.”

Grinding the butt of his most recent cigarette into the concrete, Andrew stands and turns toward the door. It’s an abrupt action, and Neil feels like the moment’s about to slip through his fingers. Instinctively, he reaches out to grab Andrew’s arm in a bid for attention. He stutters to a stop at the last moment, aware that Andrew’s never initiated physical contact with anyone, his fingers splayed in an aborted motion.

Neil isn’t sure if Andrew notices.

“I didn’t tell you — or anyone else — anything because Riko can’t know I’m here,” he says, throat uncomfortably dry after talking so much. “But I believe you when you say you won’t tell anyone. Thank you.”

They don’t speak again, but Andrew offers him a shrug and a two-fingered salute before he re-enters the bar, stepping neatly over Neil’s now-invisible wards surrounding the back entrance.

* * *

Five months after Neil starts showing up to Eden’s, he orders something that finally categorizes him as something other than an abomination only capable of idiocy.

“You don’t drink,” Andrew says, eyes narrowed as he nevertheless pours liquor into a tall, intricately-designed glass.

“Oh,” Neil says, flashing a grin that promises mischief. “It’s not for me.”

Andrew stills in his movements. “You come up to my bar, order absinthe, and have the gall to not tell me what nefarious purposes you’re about to use it for?”

Leaning in conspiratorially — Andrew ignores just how close they are over the bar’s countertop — Neil surreptitiously gestures toward one of the various tables littering the floor. “See that brunette? The one with the shiny top?”

Both of them look, and Andrew sees a woman who is trying far too hard to attract attention. She’s dressed in barely enough clothes to be considered publicly appropriate, and her long brown hair looks flawlessly styled. The shiny top Neil had described scarcely covered her extremely large breasts, and her stilettos are platformed excessively enough that she towers over the table she’s standing by.

“You,” Andrew says flatly, “are going to seduce a succubus.” He wrinkles his nose in distaste: is it possible that Neil has even worse taste than he’d previously thought possible?

Neil snorts. “Of course not. More like… get her high. For research.”

“For research.”

“It’s the anise,” Neil says, waving a hand carelessly in the air. “Essential for brewing love potions. Obviously that’s something their kind avoids, because simulating love is like heroin to them.”

Andrew idly wonders if stupidity is contagious. “I’m going to regret asking, but why on this hellhole of an earth do you need to drug a succubus.”

“Oh,” Neil says. “That’s easy. She slept with Riko two weeks ago, and I’m dying to hear how awful he was in bed. Bet she didn’t even get a decent meal out of it.”

That’s easy. Andrew shoves the drink at him and walks away, steps measured and careful as he stews in annoyance.

* * *

Against all of his screaming instincts, Neil grows closer to the rotating staff that resides in the lounge above the club when they’re not on shift.

They’re all employees of various sectors that contribute to keeping the supernatural haven functioning. Dan and Renee serve as enforcers, ensuring all non-humans on the grounds abide by the unwritten rules of their community, while others like Aaron and Andrew work on the ground level of the club as serving staff.

Matt’s interesting, a witch of the coven that Neil had detected upon his arrival into Columbia. Neil has no idea what he actually does at Eden’s, but he’s friendly enough that Neil milks him for information to make sure none of the acquaintances he’s met are enthralled by Riko and doing his bidding.

Neil even meets Wymack and Abby, who run the more supernatural side of things. Abby’s an on-call medic, capable of treating the maladies humans have no idea how to cure.

They call themselves Foxes, some sort of nickname or gang-adjacent title they seem proud of, and Neil pretends he doesn’t yearn to belong to a group that seems so close with one another.

They’re — nearly friends. Could be, maybe, if Neil didn’t know intimately that he’s running on borrowed time. He has a purpose here, a mission that relies on his success, and there’s too much at stake for him to fall into the trap of domesticity. Of frivolous friendship.

His next blood-call with Stuart is stilted, awkward. It’s clear his uncle knows something is going on outside of stalking Riko, and Neil remains tight-lipped, fearful that if Stuart discovers exactly what idiotic shit Neil’s been up to then he’ll have him relocate immediately.

For the first time in decades, Neil wants to stay. He knows he can’t, but the urge rests idle under his skin, leaching into him like a poison.

* * *

It’s frustrating when Andrew needs to be in two places at once.

It’s marginally less frustrating, however, when he’s got a doppelganger to help him be in two places at once.

“You’re covering the bar at Eden’s tonight,” Andrew tells his human counterpart, already braced for the fallout.

“Fuck no,” Aaron hisses, hackles up already. Even the idea of directly serving supernatural clientele has him spitting like an angry cat. “I’m not getting anywhere near those freaks.”

It’d almost be amusing, if not for the fact that Andrew’s been summoned to the realm of the Fae. He has no interest in pandering to his kind, but nor can he let veiled threats against Aaron and Nicky coming from his Fae family slide without any sort of consequence.

He plans to be back in the human world by sundown.

“You don’t have a choice,” Andrew drawls. “I’m even feeling generous, so I’ll grant you one favor for it. No limits.”

Aaron looks ready to reject the proposal before a thoughtful expression crosses his features. It’s incredibly predictable, that human greed to take as much as he can.

“There’s a girl,” Aaron says slowly. He still looks ready to commit murder, though his eyes soften as he continues. “Katelyn. I’m allowed to see her whenever I want.”

“Disgusting.”

His doppleganger growls in annoyance. “Shut the fuck up. If you’re going to make me deal with — with them — for an entire night, then I don’t want to hear your fucking bullshit. It makes my skin crawl even thinking about it.”

Katelyn, huh. Just another frustration to add to the headache that is Andrew’s entire existence. A human girl distracting his brother from all of the other threats in the world will increase Andrew’s work tenfold.

“Fine,” he says shortly. “Your shift starts at 7.”

* * *

Something’s wrong.

It’s a prickle at the back of Neil’s neck, an instinctual clenching of his gut telling him to run, run, run away.

There was a time when all Neil knew was how to run, but that fell away and died the moment Nathan had killed his mother and tortured him within an inch of his life.

Neil doesn’t run anymore. Now, he chases.

The wrongness solidifies as Neil’s wards go off. They send an electric buzz humming across his skin: a Moriyama has entered Eden’s.

Given the fact that Riko Moriyama owns the place, it shouldn’t come as a surprise, but Neil’s been casing the place for months, and his wards have been still as the grave: not a single Moriyama has stepped foot inside since his arrival.

Until now.

He stays in the shadows, avoiding Riko’s predatory gaze as he surveys the club. It’s possible that Riko has no other mission than to assess his recent purchase, in which case Neil absolutely needs to remain hidden.

Things take a turn for the worse when Riko’s attention hones in on the bartender, and Neil’s stomach clenches uncomfortably. Neil knows Andrew is working tonight, but Riko had entered before he’d had the chance to harass him at the bar. If Andrew’s caught Riko’s scrutiny, there’s no telling what will happen. He hasn’t smelled Andrew all night, which means his glamour’s still in effect, but possibly Riko’s caught onto the fact that something about his blood sings to their kind —

Neil needs to intervene.

He watches as Riko bends his head so he’s talking directly into Andrew’s ear. His hands are white-knuckled as he grips a glass, and Neil has a very real, very frantic premonition of the glass shattering and exposing the sharp tang of his blood to the air.

There isn’t enough time to react, though. One moment, Riko and Andrew are at the bar, and the next they’re gone.

Neil’s never heard of teleportation being a tool in the Moriyama arsenal, but the purebloods are known for keeping their secrets close to their chest. It’s not impossible.

It’s also not okay at all.

Neil growls a curse, biting his thumb and muttering the words for a tracking spell that he hopes sticks to Andrew as he tears out of Eden’s.

* * *

His magic is fucking useless.

Nothing seems to cling to Andrew, and it’s not long before Neil loses sight of both him and Riko. He feels fucking stupid, avoiding attaching any sort of magic to Andrew because Andrew had never explicitly consented to such a thing.

Fucking stupid.

He roams the streets, dread building as he searches for any indication of where Riko’s taken Andrew.

Part of Neil knows it’s a trap. The rest of him doesn’t give a shit.

It feels like hours pass before Neil picks up on a trail. It’s due to nearly fifty years of tracking the Moriyamas that clues Neil into where Riko has gone — a nearly imperceptible trace of a magical impression that indicates a nondescript-looking home had recently been entered.

Neil doesn’t bother with stealth as he steps into the wards, shouldering the locked door open with brute strength. It’s careless, for him to avoid canvassing the building and noting all possible exits, but every second that Riko’s alone with Andrew is another second Neil’s wasting not saving him.

He needn’t have bothered. The moment Neil’s inside, he catches sight of Riko, standing far too casually with Andrew’s slumped form propped up against his legs. Seeing someone touch Andrew without his permission has Neil snarling before he can even think to contain the reaction.

“You,” Riko growls, his eyes glowing a menacing red as he catches Neil’s scent.

“Me,” Neil chirps back, much lighter than he feels. He hasn’t seen Riko face-to-face for almost twenty years, but the snarl on his face is just as familiar as ever.

Riko’s never taken Neil’s parentage lightly, and resented him even before he’d fled Nathan’s compound with his mother. They’ve played cat and mouse over the decades, Riko jealous of Kengo’s continued interest in Neil’s potential use as a weapon.

He’d rather die than be caught under the Moriyama clan’s thumb, though.

It doesn’t seem like anyone else is in the house with them, which is stupid of Riko. Taking him on alone will be doable — difficult, but doable. Riko’s not much taller than Neil is, but the blood that hums through his veins is powerful with the magic of his bloodline. Neil’s own magic isn’t raw power, but he’s a quick thinker, and Andrew’s unconscious body is motivation enough.

“I can’t possibly understand why you’d be so taken with this thing,” Riko says, and it’s disgusting how fragile Andrew seems with one limp arm held in Riko’s grasp. He shakes Andrew violently, revealing the various cuts and bites marring his body from whatever Riko had already done to him. “Made it easier to lure you out, though. When will you learn that humans will only ever disappoint you, Nathaniel?”

“That’s not my name,” Neil growls, but a chill runs down his spine as the words register.

Riko’s been keeping tabs on him, then.

It had been stupid for Neil to think he’d gotten away with recon at Eden’s. Not recognizing Riko’s spies didn’t mean they weren’t there, and now his ongoing stupidity and attachment has put Andrew’s life in Riko’s contemptible hands.

“All of this was a ploy, then?” Neil considers his options, even as he bares his teeth. “Buying a supernatural club just to lure me out seems like an awful waste of money.”

“You really are an ungrateful little shit, Wesninski,” Riko snarls. “I had plans for Eden’s, but your presence was a welcome surprise. Bringing your head to my father will serve me just as well. I’m going to enjoy killing your friends before I end your life.”

And then Riko yanks Andrew up, his unconscious body as easy to handle as a ragdoll, and draws a dagger across the length of his throat.

Andrew’s blood spills, and Neil sees red.

Blood witches tend to use the easiest source of blood to channel their magic — their own — and Neil has always felt it be a violation of unforgivable proportions to control the lifeblood of others.

Right now, however, he feels no such compunction.

Even the blood pumping through Riko’s undead heart is a weapon, if Neil cares to manipulate it. And in this moment, seeing the life drain from Andrew’s body, Neil becomes the killing machine the Moriyamas had always dreamed of from the moment they’d ensnared Mary Hatford and tried their hand at hybridization.

Borne of human magic and the ancient power of vampires, Nathaniel goes for Riko’s throat.

The easiest way to strengthen his magic is to acquire more blood, and his instincts call for Riko’s. Nathaniel’s too quick to be seen, even with Riko’s preternatural senses. Teeth clamp around the delicate-looking skin of Riko’s jugular in the split second it takes for him to clear the room, and Riko jerks away, his flesh tearing against the reflexive movement.

Riko staggers back, furious. A single wound of this nature isn’t enough to fell a born vampire as strong as he is, and his skin begins to knit itself back together even as his blood drips onto the ground, fueling Nathaniel’s bloodrage. Riko hisses something, inaudible against the screaming in Nathaniel’s head for revenge and suffering and death.

With the taste of Riko’s blood in his mouth, Nathaniel can feel every pulse of his veins. He yearns for it, eager to kill and consume. Nathaniel’s blood magic hums in the air, hungry for more to spill.

The spell comes to him so naturally Nathaniel hardly notices. He doesn’t even truly know the words — they come to him, tearing out of him and leaving his throat raw with the force behind them — but they cause Riko to freeze in place, legs obeying Nathaniel’s command rather than Riko’s own. Nathaniel can feel the blood inside Riko’s body sing as it obeys him, stopping Riko in his tracks.

“What?” Riko howls raggedly. “What have you done?”

With Andrew dying, there is nothing stopping him from losing himself to the carnage.

Nathaniel’s lips curl, and he knows even without looking that it is his father’s smile. “Won’t your father be proud?” he croons, licking at the droplets of blood around his mouth from Riko’s torn-out throat. “I’m the monster he always wanted, not you. A pathetic excuse for the Moriyama legacy.”

Riko looks, for the first time, properly fearful. Nathaniel wonders if, along with the blood magic and the vampiric venom, he doesn’t also feed off of terror. “No,” he cries. “You’re wrong! They want you dead! You’re nothing more than a feral creature fit to be put down, and I’m going to be the one to do it. You’re a loose end, Nathaniel. And loose ends deserve to burn until they’re annihilated.”

It’s nothing Nathaniel hasn’t heard before, chained up and left to the brink of starvation as his father carved bits of his own skin off of him.

And oh, if that isn’t an idea.

The flesh covering Riko’s abdomen parts easily enough as Nathaniel shoves his hand just beneath his ribcage. With blood magic pulsing over Nathaniel’s own skin, Riko’s blood chases his movements, eager to please and heed his call.

It’s intimate, the feel of Riko’s heart in the palm of his hand. While under most circumstances it’s nearly impossible to kill a born vampire, cradling the one part of them they need to survive fills Nathaniel with cruel delight. It pumps once, pathetically, against his fingers, and Nathaniel leans into the rush of power it provides.

Beneath the hum of energy, though, is the dullest sting, and distantly Nathaniel realizes his magic is eating away at all of his own reserves of blood. Magic is a finite resource, and he’s nearly drained of his own supply. Even the blood pouring from Riko’s chest cavity will not slake his thirst.

Done playing with his victim, Nathaniel tears the organ from beneath its protective cage of ribs. Riko’s blood cries out as Nathaniel crushes his heart, before he leans in and devours what he can in animalistic instinct.

When the haze of anger clouding Nathaniel fades, all that’s left of Riko is a grisly, gory mess. There’s shock upon his features, as if he couldn’t possibly believe Nathan Wesninski’s monstrous son was capable of doing such damage to a born vampire — the chosen ones, the ones with power great enough to overtake the rest of the world.

His face is unmarred, locked forever in surprised horror, and Nathaniel spits a bloodied glob of spit onto his unblinking eyes.

There’s enough time for one single moment of glee that Riko had allowed his ego to consume him, too convinced he’d be able to take Nathaniel on alone, bringing nobody with him but an expendable hostage —

And in that second, Neil’s heart, slowed with the amount of blood his magic has burned through, stops.

Andrew.

He moves, lightning-quick, to the crumpled form of the Fae, turning his body over to see if there’s any sign of life remaining, but —

His blood smells wrong. It smells human, in all of the ways Andrew Minyard is not.

It’s not Andrew.

It’s not Andrew, one desperate part of Neil realizes with relief, even as rising panic overtakes him.

If it’s not Andrew, then it’s Aaron. And Aaron’s entirely human, losing too much blood too quickly. A non-human might be able to survive Riko’s particular brand of torture, but Neil’s not sure how a mortal lacking any sort of regenerative power will fare.

Neil’s going to regret it, but he manages to scribble a rejuvenation spell into the floor from the pooling blood between them. There’s only so much magic within a blood witch’s body at any given time, and the more they lose, the harder it is to cast. If Neil overexerts his magic, the vampiric cells within his body will cannibalize themselves. But if he stays here, holding Aaron’s broken body, they’ll both die, anyway.

He can save at least one of them, Neil thinks firmly, and pushes himself to his feet. The rebound of this spell might kill him before blood loss gets the chance to, but the false energy coursing through the both of them, crackling magic already healing the wound across Aaron’s neck, is enough to drag Aaron to safety.

* * *

Blood smears across Andrew’s front door as Neil slams his fist frantically, desperately, against the wood.

“Aaron,” Neil gasps as soon as the door opens, slumping against the wall. For such a tiny human, Aaron is an exhausting person to carry when he’s dead weight. “Call Abby.”

“What did you do?” Andrew’s quick on the uptake: his gaze immediately narrows in on the blood spattering them both.

And then there’s silver pressing up against Neil’s throat. He’s too human for the metal to burn his flesh, but the threat of a knife against his jugular is one more threat compounded on top of everything Neil’s already gone through.

“He’ll be fine,” Neil says, baring his throat as best he can. God, he’s so fucking tired. “If you get him to Abby.”

The knife withdraws, and Andrew is quick to grab Aaron’s other side. Together they haul him into Andrew’s apartment, and Neil bites back a hysterical giggle of relief that he lives on the first floor of the building. Stairs would be impossible, right now.

“What the fuck happened, Josten?”

“Oh, you know.” He’s dizzy with blood loss, nauseous with the effort it takes not to drain either of the Minyards dry. “Intercepted a kidnapping, destroyed a centuries-old born vampire whose family wants to either kill me or keep me as a weaponized slave, and may have overdone it with the blood magic.”

And then Neil finally gives in to the temptation and passes out in Andrew’s living room.

* * *

He fades in and out of the darkness, barely remembering crossing the threshold of Andrew’s apartment. The dragging weight of Aaron propped up against him feels like a lifeline: he’s completed his purpose, and even if Aaron is injured and unconscious, his warmth is a signal that he’s survived.

It’s also a signal that his heart is still beating blood through him, and a not-negligible part of Neil keens for it. It’d be so easy to bite down on Aaron — the split of skin around his neck wound would be the most convenient way to drink, with Neil so weak...

At some point, Neil can’t recollect when, Aaron is pulled out of his reach. He looses a fierce, protective growl, but Andrew’s magic surrounds him, a soothing balm against the jagged loss carving through him.

“I tried,” Neil says, eyes pricking dangerously with tears. “I used everything…”

Andrew approaches, but Neil’s head pounds too much for him to open his eyes. His body must be going through its reserves and coming up wanting. It’s likely that he’ll die. “Come here.”

The words feel like ice being dumped atop Neil’s head. If he’s on the brink of death, what Neil needs to do is get the fuck out of here before he loses himself too much to remember that these are people he’s fond of. The only problem is that even the idea of moving is too much to bear at the moment.

Andrew calls for him to draw nearer again, and Neil squints at him in a fog of anger. From far away, through the haze of Neil’s vision, he looks identical to Aaron. It’s a curious thought — obviously, they’re very nearly clones of one another, but Neil’s always been able to tell the difference between them.

Now, though, as his body fights against the overwhelming tide of death, Neil can’t tell them apart.

“Nonono,” Neil moans, shoving feebly at Andrew-Aaron-Andrew as he comes closer. They look the same now, both covered in blood and blurring in Neil’s field of vision. He needs to keep himself away from them, lest he give in to the vampiric instinct to survive no matter whose life must be extinguished in the process.

“Josten.” The word sends a bolt of warmth through him, a reminder that he isn’t just Nathaniel, the vampiric offspring of Nathan Wesninski. He is more than the virus that transformed him into this monster. “Drink.”

He is, though, at his core, still a beast that craves blood. Andrew’s crouching down in front of him, showing Neil his back — which is inviting his own death, Neil thinks hysterically — and pushing the fabric of his shirt away from the thick muscle of his neck. Presenting that pale, delicious-smelling flesh to him.

Neil’s only half-human. He can’t resist. There’s a shiver of magic as his teeth extend into points, eager for the meal presented to him.

With the weight of death urging him on, Neil takes the lifeline for what it is and bites down.

It’s everything and nothing all at once.

Neil’s entire world hones in on the bright pinprick of redredred blood and the taste of sunlight and perfection bursting across his tongue. He’s not a fan of sweet things, not usually, but this ambrosia is the finest thing that’s ever graced his taste buds.

He needs to stop immediately. He needs to drink until he’s bursting at the seams and then some.

Neil falls back into the black, black darkness of unconsciousness, mouth flooded with lifeblood that soothes Neil down to his very soul.

* * *

His return to consciousness is marked by the excruciating pain that radiates throughout every cell of his body. It’s somehow not a surprise, when Neil finally manages to open his eyes, to see Andrew lounging in a chair across from the bed Neil’s been placed in.

“You nearly died,” Andrew says, tone bored enough for the words to sound conversational.

“Yeah, that tends to happen.” Run-ins with the Moriyama family have been taking chunks out of Neil for nearly a century. He knows it’s his fate to continue the fight until they chip enough away from him that he won’t survive.

Neil surveys his location: he’s in what is clearly a bedroom, but one that looks dry and impersonal. A spare, then. Careful bandages wrap around his torso, and all of the blood — Riko’s, Aaron’s, his own — has been cleaned. He has no idea whose clothes he’s wearing.

He wonders if he’s ended up at Wymack’s or Abby’s.

“I need blood,” Neil says, hating the truth of the words in his mouth. He can tell the house is far from empty, and knows it’s not long before the temptation will be too great. Using that much blood magic on an already empty stomach had to have completely annihilated all of the stored blood in Neil’s body: he needs fresh blood, or else he will turn into a ravenous beast that cares about nothing but survival.

Neil carefully does not think about the vivid pricks of his fangs that must be on Andrew’s neck. He’s wearing a shirt with a high collar, hiding evidence of what they’d done, but there’s no way it’s healed already.

Andrew eyes him carefully. “No, you don’t.”

“Andrew,” Neil growls, finally shoving the heavy blankets off of himself. “While I still have control, I need to leave.”

He’s a threat to everyone he knows, and won’t allow himself to be. They hadn’t even shackled him to a bed. Stupid ideologists, all of them.

“Use your head for once,” Andrew says. “How do you feel?”

“Miserable.”

“But are you hungry?”

That finally gives Neil pause.

His body aches, and the absence of his magic feels like a piece of him is missing — it will recover with time, but causes a void deep inside of him now — but there’s no hunger.

He can’t taste any vestige of blood, either, but he must have been fed.

“Who?” Neil asks, and his voice cracks on the word. It means that everyone must know the truth of him, but it also means that one of them cared enough to save him.

“Nicky,” Andrew says, which is to be expected. He’s used to the drawing procedure, and knows already of Neil’s needs. It’s concerning, though — Neil was definitely weak enough to drain an entire body’s worth of blood. Maybe two. “And Dan. And m—” but then he stops, letting the words sink in.

“That’s—” There’s a knot in Neil’s throat. He feels abruptly nauseous, like his body’s about to reject the offerings that so many gave to him. “Why would they do that?”

“Christ, Neil.” Andrew looks annoyed. “You’re their friend. They wanted to help and cared about you coming out of this alive.” His annoyance shifts into something more curious. It’s clear Andrew will want to learn about what this was.

“I’m tired,” Neil says shortly. He’s suddenly overwhelmed, and doesn’t care that his words are a direct contrast to the blankets thrown haphazardly off his body, but he still settles down in the bed and deliberately turns his back to Andrew. If he ends the conversation, then he doesn’t have to react to the idea of others being so selfless.

It’s silent for long enough that Neil thinks Andrew had left. It isn’t until Andrew says, almost angrily, “You saved Aaron’s life,” that he realizes he’s nowhere close to that lucky.

Neil isn’t ready for this conversation. “I was just doing my job.”

“No,” Andrew says firmly. It’s an echo of his refusal to believe Neil’s holistic humanity. “Doing your job would have meant succeeding at all costs, regardless of the casualties. Aaron’s awake now, and Matt says the magic you used to save him could have easily killed you as soon as you finished casting. Why did you do it?”

Neil’s not sure he’ll ever be able to lie to Andrew, who always manages to see right through him. He wishes it made him feel anything but a spark of something like joy to be known.

“I—” Lies cling to Neil’s throat, but no matter how hard he tries, he can’t force them out. “I thought it was you,” he says finally, staring at the wall. He can’t look at Andrew while he says this. “And I would have done anything to make him pay for hurting you.”

* * *

Andrew wants to kill Neil Josten.

The audacity of him to come in and protect what is Andrew’s, to even consider trying to do the same for Andrew—

It’s unacceptable. He should do everything within his power to make sure Neil leaves and stays gone, after the shit he’s pulled.

The only problem is —

It’s terrifying how little Andrew actually wants that.

* * *

It’s silent for too long. Neil’s thoughts spiral as the quiet yawns between them, an unending chasm.

With Riko taken care of and Aaron safe in his brother’s care, Neil feels a twisting in his stomach that he belatedly recognizes as sadness. Neil’s hands curl into fists on the bedding. He’ll need another day or so to recover before he leaves, but at least he’ll get the chance to say goodbye.

There’s nothing else for him to do here. The Moriyama problem isn’t one that can be taken care of so easily, and Stuart will need to relocate him to take down another cohort. With Kengo mobile, the coven will definitely have its hands full. The Moriyama empire will not die with their second son, and Neil will inevitably have another mission somewhere else in the world where he’s needed.

Riko’s kidnapping weighs heavily on Neil, too. Aaron had only been taken because he’d been connected to Neil. It hurts, even still, to even consider the possibilities — if it had been Andrew stolen away instead, if Neil had been too late, or distracted…

“Stay,” Andrew says from his bedside, the word cutting through Neil’s thoughts, and it sounds like a plea, a curse, and a concession all at once. When Neil turns to look at him, he’s perched on the mattress close enough that Neil can see the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes.

Neil grimaces. “This isn’t over. I can’t have anyone else be at risk until the Moriyamas are put down.” And he can’t do this again, risk putting those he cares about in danger. They may have broken past his careless facade, but Neil won’t be able to handle it if they get hurt simply because they know him.

“They’ll choose it, every single one. They’d rather die for you than let you go alone.”

“I know,” Neil says, sounding wounded. “That’s the problem. I can’t risk them.”

A warm hand wraps itself around Neil’s neck. It’s a controlling gesture, but Neil melts into it, indulging in the comfort of someone else’s strength. Andrew taps a nonsensical rhythm against the back of Neil’s neck. His grip is firm, secure. “Have you ever seen Kevin’s true form?” he asks, casually, and it’s such a wrench in the conversation that Neil’s head spins.

“No.”

“Riko chose Eden’s on purpose. He held Kevin captive for years, bleeding him like a stuck pig. Considered him a trophy put on display for other vampires to beg for a taste. He found out where Kevin went when he’d managed to escape. You’re not the only one who wants revenge on them all.”

Neil doesn’t know much about Kevin, other than the fact that he has sprawling burns that radiate up the length of one arm. He’s always sensed a dormant power burning away in the other, but his priority had never been to dwell on someone else’s cowardice. Considering Andrew’s words, though, along with the golden flashes he’s seen flickering in Kevin’s eyes alongside the latent energy that Neil had never before felt from a non-human before...

“No way,” Neil says. His ever-slow pulse kicks up a notch as the adrenaline from his human side kicks in. “He’s not…”

“He is,” Andrew says, the words a drawn-out, put-upon sigh. “A dragon who can’t even turn into one is pretty useless, but Renee insists that all he needs is time to heal before he’ll be able to transform again.”

“I don’t understand.” It’s unfathomable: the strength of a dragon could easily start a war, one that the Moriyamas would lose. How could Riko possibly lose an asset he’d so thoroughly broken?

“You’ve killed the one Kevin fears most. If you stick around, you might get to see him get over himself sooner rather than later.”

They’re quiet for a moment, and Neil’s fairly certain that Andrew’s closeness is the only thing keeping him sane. Hope is not an emotion he’s let himself feel since the day Mary died.

“Getting attached is dangerous,” he says, remembering her warnings, his voice barely above a whisper. He’s not sure who he’s trying to convince more.

Andrew looks as unaffected at the words as he does about everything else. “You’re an idiot,” he says. “This is nothing. Yes or no?”

He let Neil feed on him. He let Neil close, trading secrets and keeping them safe.

Neil knows there’s no other answer other than agreement, so he says, “Yes,” and then Andrew’s hand is dragging around his neck until fingers dance across his jawline. It’s no effort at all for Neil to turn his head until it’s at the perfect angle for Andrew’s lips to press against his own.

They kiss for a second. They kiss for an eternity.

It’s sweeter and more potent than Andrew’s blood had been across Neil’s tongue, a gift freely given and received. There’s no hurry to the motion of it, and Andrew bears his weight down onto Neil, pressing them both deeper into the mattress.

The rush of magic Neil feels when he casts is nothing compared to the swipe of Andrew’s tongue and the nip of teeth across his lower lip. He nearly loses himself in the kiss, just cognizant enough to prevent himself from wrapping unwanted arms around Andrew’s torso.

Such closeness is something he didn’t know he craved until that very moment, but the burden of pulling away to ask for permission seems unbearable when they could continue kissing.

“Andrew,” Neil breathes, eons later, and it’s like something indescribable has finally clicked into place. That he could have this… it’s unthinkable.

Neil yearns for it so badly his chest aches.

“Stay,” Andrew says again, and rests his forehead against Neil’s own. Their breath mingles in the scant air between them. Between one heartbeat and the next, Neil is bombarded with the onslaught of Andrew’s true, unglamoured scent.

He groans in simultaneous despair and arousal, clenching his newly-sharpened teeth so hard that his jaw throbs. “Cheap shot.”

Andrew kisses him again, a smug tilt to his lips as he pulls away. “What kind of idiot expects the Folk to play fair?”

The words serve their purpose, dragging a reluctant smile out of Neil. “Okay,” he says, feeling the truth of the words breath life of their own the moment they’re released from his lungs. “Okay. I’ll stay.”


End file.
